


(Don't Fear) The Reaper

by Proud_Fanboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Season 11 Finale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon compliant up to 11x20, Coda, Episode: s11e20 Don't Call Me Shurley, Gen, Happy Ending, I'm worse than the actual show, Light Angst, M/M, i guess, kind of destiel, since it's only hinted by other characters, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6809971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proud_Fanboy/pseuds/Proud_Fanboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the big showdown our heroes (even if they stopped believing that they are heroes long ago) have some goodbyes to say. Someone will try to make amends, and someone will keep their word and they'll come back to do what they promised us when we first met them.</p>
<p>“Hello, old friend. It is time.”<br/>“It is, isn’t it…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brave New World for me! This is my first SPN fic. In fact, my first fan fic, and my first piece of fiction written in English, and the first time I've actually shared my work with anyone. A lot of firsts, so, yeah - Brave New World. Let's just hope here that phrase doesn't prove to be ironic.
> 
> I must take time to thank wonderful @grey2510 for doing beta reading for me. Actually, "beta" doesn't come near to doing her justice - she did an amazing job editing my work, and gave me more than few useful pointers (when I was stuck with the plot, with characters, etc). So, thank you ad infinitum, @grey2510!
> 
> At last, I don't own any of the characters. In fact - I own nothing but the mistakes and typos.

_“Hello, old friend. It is time.”_

Castiel couldn't tell whether this was something he really heard or just another memory he was reliving. Ever since Lucifer made sure the Angel of Thursday wouldn't try to overpower him again Castiel has been tucked away deep in his own mind, in his safe place (that wasn't really a place but just a figment of his imagination, of course – the Winchester's kitchen, the Bunker's kitchen, the place that felt like home, for the first time after Heaven), where he flipped through different memories, or not-memories, because there was a bountiful of books, plays, shows, and films which Metatron once just implanted in his mind. And some of those he really liked.

But then he realized he couldn’t see anything, except for blinding bright light. The last time his safe place was devoured by bright light was when he fought Lucifer with all the strength he had so he would stop his brother from killing Sam. Suddenly he realized this was different. That time it wasn’t just bright light, it was cold, it was freezing. For Devil burns cold, he reminded himself. Eons of being away from Heaven made Morningstar’s grace in a way barren. An angel’s grace is warm, its light is like the Sun that gives life to every living being, it’s the physical manifestation of divine love. But for Lucifer love turned into rage, compassion into indifference, mercy into unbridled violence. Back then, when Castiel wrestled his brother for control over his own hand he felt all of it – now, none of it. All he was feeling now was pain. Physical pain, but also the kind of pain that – thanks to his vast knowledge of human literature – he could identify as the pain caused by the feeling of uselessness: that first rage at the whole world (but mostly at yourself), and then finally, that pain – after watching yourself fail over and over, after letting down the people you care for, the people you love deeply, after the rage dissipates – where you're just hurting because you know that nothing you do will change anything.

He also smelled something. That illusion of his making, that place inside his mind never had the right smell; or taste, or touch, for that matter. Or rather, it was the right smell, right taste, right touch, but there wasn’t any sensation to it. It was perfect, it was momentary. He would smell fresh lavender and cinnamon and he’d instantly know them. Real smell isn’t like that – real smell is fluctuating; real smell can intoxicate you, even if you are still unaware of what is it. Now, he was truly smelling something. He smelled something almost that burned his nostrils – smoke. No, burned flesh. And he felt pressure and warmth, first on his chest, and then those sensations moved to his neck. And this time he heard something – it wasn’t just whispered greetings that  he couldn’t tell apart from memories – this time he was sure he heard him. He heard Dean yelling his name, asking if he’s okay, telling him to take it easy. At last he could see, the light was disappearing leaving the image of Dean’s face, with fresh cuts and with half-dried blood.

“Dean… Yes,” was all he could say.

He could see now, Dean’s left hand was on the back of his neck, and he was thankful for that, because he didn’t know if he would’ve been able to keep his head from falling on his own. He tried to move his arms, his legs, his body, but everything just ached. Every half-movement was hurting him. Dean was pressing some cloth just under his ribs with his right hand. Suddenly he felt something sharp. Dean was pressing a stab wound, he realized now, having been stabbed enough times to know that. And as he regained his consciousness the pain became more focused, stronger and sharper – the stab wound was his most serious injury. He was lying, his head and neck pressed to something, maybe a wall. He looked around and he realized they were on a graveyard. It was a tombstone, then. On his left he saw Sam, his hair disheveled, his clothes dirty and bloody, his face bruised. The taller man was getting to his knees and soon he took the cloth from Dean, only to press it even harder. Castiel groaned. He again turned to look at Dean, who he could now see was also bloody and dirty.

“Dirty…”

“What did he say?”

“Dunno, Sam! Sounded like ‘dirty’ to me…”

Castiel swallowed and then tried to speak once again. “I said you’re dirty.”

“Yeah, smartass, but so’re you!” Dean actually smirked a little. His voice was deeper than usual (when it came to Dean, ‘usual’ was for some time – ever since he said yes to Lucifer – just Castiel’s memories of Dean, of Dean’s voice, of Dean’s smile, of Dean’s hand patting his back).

“What happened?” His own voice also sounded deeper, and his throat was sore and painful.

“In short – God happened!”

“Yeah, that son of a bitch finally showed up and he actually cleaned his own mess for once.”

“Dean!”

“What, Sam?!”

“I think your brother is trying to tell you shouldn’t be blaspheming…”

“Look at you, Mister Comedian!” the blond hunter almost barked.

“Amara…” And then he remembered that even hidden in his safe place he could hear her voice, her threats, her cries of rage. He could feel what she was doing to Lucifer, to them. “She tortured him, she tortured Lucifer, she said inflicting pain to Lucifer would draw our father out. My father really came?”

“Yeah, he did. But I don’t think it was just for Lucifer. He told us he could feel your pain, too. Cas, she was hurting you, too!”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“You’re fine?!” The man just gasped and shook his head. “Cas, she stabbed you!”

“Dean, I don’t think he’s bleeding anymore. He must’ve started to heal.” Sam started talking again, and then he removed the cloth only to reveal the partially healed wound on Castiel’s side, which indeed wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“What’s happening, where is my father? “ Castiel tried to move.

“Whoa, easy there, buddy! Healing or not, you’re still hurt.”

“You are hurt, too. Both of you!” He turned his head to the left, where he was welcomed by Sam’s warm and reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry Cas, it’s nothing serious, just cuts and bruises, we’re gonna be OK.”

“Dean was yelling! He was calling my name…” Apparently there were still things Castiel was remembering. It was like someone was slowly removing a veil from his memories. It felt like there was so much he has to remember

“Yeah, Cas, in the church, when we were trying to expel Lucifer,” Sam added.

“And Crowley…” Castiel again looked at Dean.

“Crowley was there, too.” Dean lowered his gaze as he usually did when he was ashamed.

“Here, on the graveyard. You were yelling here, too. You said I needed to expel him…”

“He was weak. Amara went all Guantanamo on him. And when she and Chuck were busy with their prize fight, it was our chance. I knew you could do it!”

“Chuck? I don’t understand…”

“Cas, Chuck is God,” Sam cut in.

“But how…” Castiel stopped. What does it mean, Chuck is God? How could that scarred and drunkard prophet be God? So many questions were flooding his mind. Why he left? Why didn’t he answer? Why couldn’t he find him? Why couldn’t he feel him? Why couldn’t he feel his father whenever he saw Chuck? And why couldn’t he feel his father now if he was here?

“That’s because he’s not here anymore.”

They all turned around at the sound of a familiar voice.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hello, old friend. It is time.”

 “It is, isn’t it… Billie.” Chuck greeted back, squinching at her.

“You know, you’re the last person to scold me for concealing my true identity!” The woman replied with a sneer.

“I was told recently I wasn’t a person.”

“Hm, keeping your sense of humor till the end, I see.”

“It’s my end, not _the_ end!”

“You and your semantics! I never understood your love for the words!”

“I create with words. I created everything with just words.”

“Everything you created you created with words – but you didn’t create everything. You didn’t create me.” Billie decided he needed a taste of his own medicine.

“Yeah, that’s true. When I thought of creation, when I envisioned it, you were that pesky thing that just burst into existence on its own.”

“Who are you calling pesky, old man!?” Though faking being insulted, the reaper couldn’t stop herself from grinning widely. “And I don’t think I could be described as something that ‘burst itself into existence’, since I’m death personified…You make it sound so lively and cheerful. You make _me_ sound so cheerful.” Mock disgust this time showed on her face.

“Would you prefer to be called Grim?” Chuck was now genuinely laughing.

“The little time you’re left you should spend getting your affairs in order, not making puns.” Yet, she smiled at his joke. Smiled honestly. If there’s one thing you can’t call Death, it’s “sentimental”. But still, now that the time had actually come, she caught herself feeling sorrowful. She was not supposed to feel sorrow. She was not supposed to feel, period. Her smile disappeared. So, she turned her head to look at the three figures on their left. “What about _them_?”

“You took care of my… sister?”

Billie nodded. “After you two did your _thing_ , I helped her go where she was supposed to go…” And for the first time, not even Death knew what that meant. Where was primordial Nothingness supposed to go after death? The Empty, maybe? For the first time she didn’t know. And that wasn’t something she was used to. In that moment, if she’d been a human, she would’ve just shook her head, giving herself away. Instead, she just asked another question. “And Lucifer?”

“I healed his grace. After Castiel expelled him.” Chuck’s gaze fell to the ground. “You know, it was my fault. He wasn’t a villain.”

“He made himself into one, nonetheless.”

“I think I fixed that, too. All that pain he felt – after I healed that, the rage and resentment  started to melt away. It will take time, but it’s a beginning…”

“You think that will be enough? You shut him out once, and you’re leaving him now. You’re leaving all of them.” And again she set her eyes on the self-dubbed Team Free Will.

“It will take time. And, as for them…” For the first time since everything was over, he looked at the Winchesters, all three of them (for, in his eyes, Castiel was a honorary Winchester, he didn’t doubt that after all these years; and, who knows, maybe he’ll become an official one in the conceivable future),  “I’ll have to ask you for one last favor. You won’t refuse me that?”

“When did I ever refuse? I even went along with this ludicrous plan of yours.”

She was smiling again. They both were.


	3. Chapter 3

“That’s because he’s not here anymore.”

“It was you… It was you that I heard. You were greeting someone and saying it was time…” Comprehension dawned on his face. “You were speaking with him? My father?” Castiel’s eyes were now piercing the woman in the leather jacket. She just smiled affirmatively.

“Why are you here?!” Dean barked at her and started to get on his feet. Somehow, he thought that standing he would be a match for the reaper that was coming to take them to the Empty, as he believed.

“I’m not here for you. Or your brother. Or your boy toy angel,” she smirked.

“Then, why are you here?” Sam furrowed his brows in disbelief, after getting up himself, following his brother’s lead. They were making a wall between Billie and Castiel, who was by now sitting on his own, with his back still pressed against the tombstone.

“I told your brother once I was the one who’s to reap God. I was just doing my job.”

“You’re…” Dean stopped in the middle of his sentence, realizing who’s he up against.

“What? You thought you’d actually… what’s that phrase you use? …ganked me?”

“You’re the Horseman, Death? But Dean used the scythe, the thing that can even kill Death.” Castiel stated more than asked, while he started to get up. Dean took him by the elbow and pulled gently, and so, the three of them were soon an united front against Billie.

“Honestly, the three of you! You know, I’ve put up with pretty boy here,” she winked at Dean, “impaling me with my own scythe, but you insinuating I was stupid enough to let him have a weapon that can kill me?!” Her face was radiating with gravitas, even with the amused lift of the corner of her mouth; Castiel didn't doubt for a moment she could obliterate them without moving a finger.

“I wasn’t… insinuating that.”

“Good.” She nodded once.

“So, you are Death? And we’re… good?”

“Well, I’m not reaping you, am I, Dean? But I don’t think you should expect me for Thanksgiving dinners, birthday parties… or anniversaries.” She made sure she emphasized the last part while looking first at Dean and then Castiel.

“And my father is really gone?” Castiel swallowed several times because his throat was dry all of a sudden.

“He is, Castiel. And Amara, too. That was all part of the plan, for a very long time.”

“You’re telling me he planned all this!“ Dean's hand waved out sharply in disbelief, and his voice was hard; for the moment, even the prospect of angering Death herself with his insolence wasn't enough to cow the hunter's ire.

“Well, details? – I’m afraid that’s on you. Free will and all that. But the prize fight, as you put it, that was always meant to be the final chapter of his own story. I’m not going to retcon all this for you; even I have better, more fun, ways to spend my time. Though, you do need to know few things. Just let me fix all that first.” She gestured at them, as if to explain what exactly she meant by ‘all that’.

“You mean, fix us?” Sam was cautious with his question.

“I meant healing your injuries. Even I can’t fix you. That would require therapy for more years than any of us have. And I’m eternal, so that’s saying something.” Her smirk was starting to show again.

“Why wouldja…” And before Dean could finish his question, all of his cuts and bruises were gone, just like Sam’s and Castiel’s, his stab wound included.

“Don’t ask stupid question, Dean.” She paused. “Now, you should know that Lucifer is out and about. The last thing God did was to heal him; his grace, that is.”

“Because of the torture?” Sam’s brows furrowed once more.

Dean just cleared his throat. “So, we’ve got juiced-up Lucifer on our hands, as pissed as ever, maybe even more.”

“When God healed his grace, he took away his pain. Pain of being shut away of God’s light and love is what made Lucifer into what he is; or what he was. His heart maybe didn’t grow three sizes today, but I think he’ll at least be tolerable. And you can always put him back in the cage.”

“I don’t understand, how could he just heal Lucifer’s pain?” The disbelief was visible on Castiel’s face. And then the sentiment changed. “And why wouldn’t he do that for me? I was in pain for so long! I searched for him, I prayed to him, I begged, and _he_ didn’t find it in his infinite mercy to help me?!” He was yelling by now. “He was bringing me back over and over again, and every time I was more and more broken, and he just left me like that! He even helped the literal Devil, but not me?!” His tirade left him panting and breathless, and Dean just squeezed his shoulder, in a way that conveyed a silent ‘Calm down. It’s gonna be OK’.

“You really don’t get it, my little feathered friend? He could fix any angel but you. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he _couldn’t_. You were always meant to be different. All of the other angels were made to love only because it meant obeying him; you were made to obey only your heart, and that heart knew only of love. After he made you he broke the mold. Hell, he made the mold just for you. You, Castiel, you were his favorite. After Lucifer, after he decided to change the script, and after he set the plan in motion, he wanted to secure that the house will win; you were his safe bet because the hand was rigged from the beginning. All you did for the Winchesters and all they did for you was meant to bring all of you and him here.”

“He wanted to… die?” That didn’t make sense to Sam.

“Well, not wanted, but he knew he’d need to. He was always pure Creation, pure Life, and the Darkness was the negation of all that, his antithesis. She destroyed countless Creations of his, before he finally locked her away. He hoped it would be enough. But the Mark corrupted Lucifer, something even he couldn’t predict. So, he started rewriting his latest bestseller and he wrote in the final showdown in the script, securing that this time everything runs its course without the Darkness to mess it up. Everyone had a part to play. The script ended with him, and that was my part. He _wrote_ it that way.”

“But if there’s no more _script_ , then what?”

“Why, Sam, free will, of course!” She  exclaimed almost mockingly. “For better or for worse, absolute free will. Even I don’t now what comes next. No spoilers for anyone.”

“And he couldn’t tell us this himself?! He couldn’t tell this to Cas?!” Now it was Dean’s turn to let his anger surface.

“Well, no one ever said he was that good of a writer. Endings definitely weren’t his thing. But, hey, there’s always fanfiction!” After a laugh that was really a self-congratulation for yet another sassy retort, she paused a little. “There is one more thing, about Amara. Kind of.”

“What about her? You said she’s gone, too!” The older Winchester practically barked at her.  “Can you fix what she did?”

“No. You see, everything she started – the fog, the infection, the destruction – was undone when God and myself _handled_ her. Well, I handled what was left after two of them… let’s say, cancelled each other out.”

“Like an annihilation, like matter-antimatter?”

They really don’t give enough credit to Sam, do they? Maybe it was the matter of appearance – he does kind of have that “all brawn and no brains” look sometimes, by the virtue of his height alone. But she knew that’s far from truth.

“Yes, actually something like that. Though, maybe more like fusion than annihilation, but the result is all the same. So there is no need for fixing what she did. And as for all the souls she consumed, I’m afraid neither God or myself are able to bring them back. But he did, however, fix something. Stopped something, in fact. Your mother…”

Both Winchesters snapped at her words. The pain she has seen many times throughout the millennia. The pain of loss. And she came to understand that pain, if not able to empathize with those who felt it. And funny thing was (well, not that funny – more unexpected, if anything) she saw that the angel did empathize. He did feel loss the brothers felt, even though the woman was nothing to him.

It seems even she herself forgot how different he was. That same angel that once stood in front of her, drunk with power, playing God, thinking he was a match for Death. And even then, it was ultimately about empathy. Castiel empathized with the Winchesters, he felt the burden they felt, the burden they carried through the Apocalypse. And all he wanted was to make sure they didn’t have to carry that burden anymore. So he took it instead. And then it was up to her to do some editing in God’s script. Editing?! It seems Chuck has started to rub off on her. Maybe it was best she continued, to do him the last favor he asked for.

 “Your mother is not gone.”

The surprise, mixed disbelief and anger, flooded the men’s faces. And once again she understood why would they feel the way they felt. Humans are such peculiar little things. Even when they don’t say a single word, their faces speak volumes. Over millennia she’s seen them raging, grieving, clinging desperately to pain, or getting closure. Granted, Death didn’t reap every soul personally – one needs to have standards, after all – but still, she’s seen those expressions on a human’s face many times. And yet, humans never cease to amaze her.

The way Dean amazed her now. The boy who wallowed in self-loathing from childhood. The boy who lost his mother so young. The boy who desperately missed her love and nurture. And then, on this graveyard, on this barren place, Amara offered that to him. She reached for Mary’s soul, plucked her from the best guarded part of Heaven and used her as a bargaining chip, trying to show Dean what her peace really meant. That bliss she promised to the world, it meant being one with those who you’ve lost, being together forever, not having to say goodbye.

The end and the beginning. The eternity in the blink of an eye. How was any human to refuse that? And yet, Billie had looked at Dean in that moment (being Death gets you front row seats to every Armageddon) and she’d seen his confliction, his love for his mother and his sense of duty to the world, battling right there on his face. She’d seen him trying to reason with Amara, begging her not to bring Mary into their fight, to no avail. She’d seen Dean looking first at unconscious Castiel, and then at Sam, and finally at his mother, mouthing silent ‘sorry’ before saying no to Amara.

And Billie had seen Dean’s face when Amara, realizing she would never get the only one she desires, shouted how he will come to her, because he will be utterly alone after she consumes his mother, and his brother, and the angel, and everything her brother created. Yes, Billie had seen that boy loosing his mother once again, right before God finally embraced his sister, and in doing so ended them both.

“Right before Amara consumed your mother’s soul, Chuck used – let’s call it – a bypass he built into the system long time ago. A bypass that allowed him to snatch your mother’s soul in time to send her some place safe. The safest place in Creation, in fact. A place no one and nothing can get in. Well, apart from him and whomever he lets in, of course.” She stepped aside to let the figure encompassed in light show itself. When the light finally faded, they all could see a blonde woman dressed in a white nightgown standing there.

“Mom..?” That was all Dean could muster, before his voice betrayed him. Sam just started blinking more intensely than usual and his breathing became faster and deeper. They looked in each other in disbelief and then again at the spirit in front of them.

“My boys,” the woman exclaimed, before tears filled her eyes. And soon all three of them were crying. She finally could hug her sons. And she did, both of them, one on each of her sides.

And if anyone in Creation were to say anything, seeing Billie now, seeing the mixed joy and sadness, and finally satisfaction, on her face, she would smite them where they stood. No, she’s anything but sentimental. It’s a ludicrous notion. Still, she decided it would be best if she gave these insignificant humans and their pesky angel more time with the woman’s spirit. They were all entitled to it, after everything they were put through, she reasoned – for it was reason, surely, and not _sentiment_. So she left. For now. There is no harm in waiting to take Mary Winchester’s soul to Heaven. After all, Death is patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, this started as a few snarky remarks being exchanged between God (Chuck) and Death. I simply can't believe that Death is dead, and when they introduced Billie (and she kept coming back, with Gaiman's comic, no less) I decided she must be Death himself. And they'll have to pry that theory from my cold dead hands! (I really, really loved Death - the gravitas, the style, the diction, oh my! Plus, for me he was sort of Bobby on the universal scale, surrogate father to the Creation.) So, I had to bring Death back to do what he once said is his job in the end - to reap God. Then I wanted to add Cas, and later I remembered that Mary is rumored to appear in the finale, and one thing led to another... And the results - well, I'll let you be the judge of that.
> 
> I never intended to write the big showdown or Cas expelling Luci - I leave that to other authors and ultimately to the Show. And if they do get rid of Luci in 11x21, well, that will seem a bit anticlimactic to me. Then again, maybe it's just me not being able to take off my Destiel goggles...


End file.
